


the strangest things

by whalersandsailors



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Character Study, During Canon, Gen, Missing Scene, POV First Person, Screenplay/Script Format, Spoken Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: Mr Honey tells of carving a leg for Mr Blanky and chancing a question with Lt Little.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2020)





	the strangest things

**Author's Note:**

> for The Terror Bingo prompt: **Thomas Honey**
> 
> I haven't written gen fic in a while, and I figured a good character study was the way to go!

**SCENE —**

_The Arctic, On the Ice, Winter. It is night. It is always night._

_CARPENTER THOMAS HONEY and ABLE SEAMAN ALEXANDER BERRY enter, dragging a sled wrapped in canvas, its contents lashed on with rope. HONEY carries a smoky lantern. The two men stop to rest, facing the audience. HONEY places the lantern on top of the sled. Behind them, men pull other sleds or carry boxes, all talking among themselves. Excitement buzzes among them._

**HONEY** _(continuing a conversation from offstage): '_ ’Tis the strangest thing I have yet to carve on ship. I’ve crafted toilet seats for particular captains, gallows for vindictive captains. I’ve mended chairs and tables broken from gunroom larks. I’ve even done smithing, fixed a stove more than once.

I’ve never placed myself in a doctor’s shoes; try to fix a man. Aye, I’ve seen men lose life and limb before. From cannon balls, gangrene. Once we even had a boy with leprosy slip onboard without the surgeon knowing his illness. When his foot was rotted through, the surgeon—a string of a man with terrible humor—told him that he was lucky it was only his foot, that ‘a far worse knob could have fallen off!’ He was the only one that laughed, a mate told me.

A joke like that might have gotten a chuckle from Mr Blanky. I don’t know how he can laugh when he’s like that, one leg short and wrapped up tighter than a Christmas ham. He’s good-natured though. He’s always the one the AB's harangue for stories and wisdom. He was unlike himself when I was measuring him. Quiet, pensive. He didn’t seem to want conversation, so I didn’t talk. Lt Little arrived right when I had both my hands and the tape wrapped around Mr Blanky’s thigh. His uninjured leg, that is. I didn’t hear the lieutenant approach, what with my head buried in the hammock. Mr Blanky shifted like he was uncomfortable, and I was about to ask him to keep still when he started roaring with laughter.

‘Never mind how it looks, lieutenant, you’re not interrupting a scandal.’

Now I jumped to my feet, gave the lieutenant a salute. His face and ears had gone red, and he skipped right over me to asking after Mr Blanky’s wellbeing.

‘Fine enough,’ Blanky told him. ‘But I’ll be better once I’m out of this damn hammock. If you don’t my cursing, sir.’

I ducked out of the way to write down the measurements. I tried to not stare, but the lieutenant looked a fright up close. I couldn’t say the last time he had shaved or slept.

‘We’ll be glad to have you back, Mr Blanky,' he said.

Mr Blanky then asked, ‘How’s the captain holding up?’

Lieutenant Little looked at me. I looked back down at my paper.

‘It is hard today,’ Little eventually said, after tossing the right words about in his head.

The lieutenant joined me on the short walk from the sickbay. Accustomed as I am to working below deck, my workshop’s become nigh impossible to bump around in. My lantern has a crack in it. The smoke has blackened the bulkhead, and it gets so thick sometimes it’s hard to breathe. Lieutenant Little stayed right outside the door as we talked. I couldn’t take offense, the lantern in mind.

‘How long will the leg take you?’ he asked.

There’s no other work, and were it not for a bear picking off our men like rats, I'd be bored to tears.

 **BERRY** ( _incredulous_ ): Did you say that to him?

 **HONEY:** What? _No,_ of course not. ( _a beat_ ) I told him I’d have it done in a day, and then he nodded, stood there, looked about ready to fall over from exhaustion, until finally he said ‘Good’ and something to the effect of how the men’s morale would fare better with Mr Blanky back among them. He didn’t seem inclined to leave, or maybe he was avoiding someone or something on the lower deck. I finally asked—I had to—if he thinks the Captain will die. I should have said naught. He acted like I struck him. I thought for certain he’d threaten me with the cat for even suggesting it. But he just…stared at his feet, waited long enough to worry me, then told me to take the leg to Dr MacDonald when I was done with it. That was all, and he left. No word of the captain.

_There are shouts behind them. HONEY and BERRY lift their heads to see the shape of the Union Jack billowing from a newly-erected pole. The sight makes HONEY's throat tight. Surrounded by crates and unpacked clutter, the men cheer. There is plenty of work now._

**HONEY:** Well, enough gabbing. Come, help me lift this up. No, over there, more. There. Captain’s still sick, but maybe he’ll push through in time to see the party. That’ll lift any man’s spirits.”

 _They exit, carrying a large crate off the sled. Offstage, there is a_ _clatter, followed by a curse, followed by an apology from HONEY._

 **HONEY:** I still need to fix this lantern.


End file.
